It's About Time

Time, without getting all Stephen Hawking, is an occurrence that has profound effects over a broad enough period. Take for example Mount Everest, at a plus 29,000 feet it continues to grow a quarter of an inch a year, which in a man's lifetime is imperceptible, but give it a million years and that's a whole new ball game.

Approximately 90 years ago the NFL was formed, and it's safe to say the NFLPA wasn't close to being a gleam in anyone's eye at that time. In fact it would take another 30 some years for that to happen and another 12 for the first collective bargaining agreement, which occurred in 1968. So, now the "players" are back to a trade organization and the "owners" are in court with these same "players", which has proven to be a hostile environment for the thirty-two Boss Tweeds of the NFL. But, I would argue that through the inexorable march of time, what was once imperceptible then has become quite apparent now. And that, quite simply is the players have always possessed the game and are the rightful "owners", and the Boss Tweeds, as witnessed by their perfidies over the years, are the real "players" in this game within a game.
If one believes in evolution, and I do, then we have to reexamine the constituency of this game. There are some absolutes that we're dealing with in this regard. That regardless of who's cutting the beer deals, the TV contracts, or marketing the show biz, the integrity of this game has always belonged to the participants.

The "Boss Tweeds" are in an unenviable position, but when you've colluded behind closed doors for decades, justice, although it grinds slow, grinds fine. The commissioner may be right, that the game as his bosses knew it, may be in jeopardy, but as long as they foolishly allow themselves to be examined under the legal microscope, they shall continue to meet with repellant  news. And if they should, as equally foolish, allow their fields to go fallow this fall, they shall surely witness a reseeding of the game much, much to their disliking.

I offer the NFL some free advise, see yourselves for who you really are. Become contrite and tell the players past and present that they are your partners and then let's see if we can't all be reasonable.


We're In For A Championship Run

Watching the early part of the Capitals' game on Saturday, reminded me of what it was like putting up hay, and finding the bale that was lying on a nest of bumble bees. That's when all hell would break loose! Most of the New York Rangers would agree, including their coach John Tortorella, that they came across the magic bale Saturday. When it comes to fury, and I'm sure I speak for them, give us a woman scorned.

There was a moment at the instant of the opening face off the Rangers may have thought they had a shot, but it was only a flicker. Within seconds the flow had drastically shifted, and for a while it seemed the Rangers and most of all their goalie, Lundqvist, may not survive the afternoon. I don't recall who the made the shot or who absorbed the shot, I just remember a Ranger getting hit in the mid section and crumpling on the spot. The early wrath of the Caps evoked all the movies, where one group is being overrun by another, and for some reason Zulu comes to mind. The Rangers had to know early on it was going to be a long days journey into night.

I was not surprised at how the game concluded, because of what had happened in the last game in New York. They found the kernels of self-reliance and trust in that game, and as a team, have entered another portal. It was paramount they understood the importance of the lesson learned in New York. The x's and o's, the physical and tactical part of what they do on the ice came to harvest at the begging of this series, but the honing of their mental edge took its first few strokes on the oil stone the last two games! 
"Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."